shattered and broken (you put me back together)
by Kirii
Summary: The face on display is not his own. He sees the resemblance, but there's not enough of that man left in him, if there was any there at all. (exploration of Bucky post-TWS; Steve/Bucky)


**Author's Note: **Originally a short piece exploring Bucky after the events of The Winter Soldier, later evolved into a three part piece leading up to Stucky-fic. First foray into writing for MCU.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and can't come up with a witty disclaimer to say so.

* * *

**I** - tear down the walls

* * *

He stares at the image, a face so similar to his own, head full of questions and white noise, flashes of images and voices he no longer recognizes. He reads the words on the wall, listens to the audio commentary playing over the speakers. _James Buchanan Barnes_. _Bucky Barnes. Friend of Steve Rogers._

He feels a nagging sense of recognition, but the memories are so distorted, so twisted and re-formed. The face on display is not his own. He sees the resemblance, but there's not enough of that man left in him, if there was any there at all. He remembers his target, the man in the star-spangled suit, and the desperation in those blue eyes that had begged for him to remember someone who was no longer there.

_James Buchanan Barnes._

The name is meaningless. He is the Winter Soldier, the Asset, the assassin. James Buchanan Barnes is just a name on the wall, the name belonging to the man who died in action years ago. Bucky Barnes is just a name called out by the target the Winter Soldier had failed to take out.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he asks himself. Standing there in front of the display, his words fall from his lips in quiet frustration.

If anyone overhears him and looks over to him, they don't see the Winter Soldier. His metal arm is hidden under a ragged hoodie, his hands in his pockets to hide the silver appendage. They don't see Bucky Barnes, either, not in the tired, baggy eyes with the remains of black paint blurred into the dark circles beneath them, not in the tangled mop of shaggy brown hair that peeks out under the hood covering his head. They see no one but a man, staring at another's face on the wall.

Blue eyes flash in his mind, a sliver of hope in those irises that boast the color of the sky. He hears an echo of the man's voice, calling out to him with the name he does not believe is his. _Bucky._ In his mind, amidst the white noise and brief scenes of a past he can't fully recall, he remembers the way the other man's lips form the name, so easily and without hesitation.

_Bucky_. As though he's said the name a thousand and one times before, it slips past his lips. _You're my friend._

Friend, companion, ally. Do the words mean anything more than the name he keeps hearing? He doesn't know. He is as lost now as he was when he left Steve Rogers on the river shore, as lost as he was when those words, _I'm with you 'til the end of the line_, slipped through Roger's lips. He has no one to turn to, to get answers from. The man on the wall can't answer his questions, neither can the voice echoing over the speakers. There is only one way to get answers.

Turning his back to James Buchanan Barnes, he walks out of the museum exhibit to find the one man who can answer his questions, who can tell him who the hell Bucky is.

* * *

**II - **break through the barriers

* * *

Finding Steve Rogers wasn't hard. He had the training and skills to track down anyone, but Rogers just made it altogether too easy. From his vantage point, he could see Rogers through the window as the blond man entered the apartment and immediately went to the corner where he turned on the stereo.

Not long after, there was visitor - a woman with curled blonde hair. He waited, crouched on the roof of the building across the way. Now was not the time to approach.

No, finding Rogers was not the problem. The problem lie in the visitors that kept going in and out of the apartment - the blonde woman; Romanoff; the man with the steel wings he'd thrown from the Helicarrier. He waited and waited, watching for when the last of the visitors had left. Rogers sees the last visitor off, standing in the hallway outside the apartment as they finish up their conversation.

Meanwhile, he's opened the window and slipped inside. Rogers is stepping back into the apartment, a final farewell on his lips to his friend and, by the time he turns around, the Winter Soldier is right there.

Or rather, the man who once was the Winter Soldier. He doesn't know what to call himself anymore. His handler is dead, so he has no one to tell him that he is the Winter Soldier, that he is the Asset and Steve Rogers is his target. He is no longer the Winter Soldier, but he is not James Buchanan Barnes, either.

There is considerable shock in Roger's eyes when he finds himself face to face with the assassin. Those blue eyes that had, just weeks ago, been full of desperate hope and shocked recognition were now filled with pain and desolation.

"Bucky."

He shakes his head. "I'm not Bucky."

"You were him," Steve replies. There is a certain ring of resignation in his voice. "They took that from you. They took away who you were."

"Who was I?" He wants to know. The display at the museum couldn't tell him anything, didn't jog his memories. There was something, in the back of his mind, that told him to trust Steve Rogers, that the words he spoke back on the Helicarrier - _I'm with you 'til the end of the line - _had been spoken with every ounce of honesty in the man's body. "Who am I now?"

The white noise that echoed through his mind every time he tried to break past the wipes, every time his memories tried to break out of the cage the wipes put them in, grew loud now, causing his head to ache. He brought his hands, both flesh and metal, to his temples, clutching his head as the barriers held his memories back.

Rogers - Steve - puts his hands on his arms, hands that are bigger and stronger than they should have been. There is a ghostly image in front of his eyes as he looks at Steve, a smaller, thinner ghost that echoes Steve's features. Both the ghost and the man look at him with concern coloring those blue eyes.

"You are my friend," Steve tells him, slowly, firmly. His words are meant to give him grounding, something to anchor him when he feels he might be lost in a storm in his own mind. "I'll help you, Bucky. But I need you to trust me. Work with me."

He gives a nod through the pain of his aching head. He echoes what Steve said to him just weeks ago. "I'm not going to fight you."

Though he doesn't see it, he can tell from the tone of his voice that Steve is smiling. "It's a start."

* * *

**III **- bring the pieces back together

* * *

He's recovering, very slowly. It takes time, doesn't it, to undo all the damage Hydra caused him, body and mind. There are some things that will never recover; he will always have that metal arm - Tony Stark envies the technology that went into it - and he will always carry the burden of the sins he committed under Hydra's command - Natasha says she understands that his actions were under orders, but she'll never forgive him for destroying bikinis for her.

It's been five months since the day he came into Steve's apartment, seeking answers for an existential crisis. Five months, he knows, can't erase years and years of abuse and re-programming. Five months aren't enough to re-learn everything he'd lost.

But five months is a start.

Steve is with him every step of the way. With every passing day, he feels less and less like the Winter Soldier, deadly assassin and ghost. He knows he will never be James Buchanan Barnes again, for that man died so long ago that his name was known only because of Steve and a display on the museum wall. In the last five months, he's become Bucky Barnes again, but only in name.

Steve reminds him every day of who he is, when Bucky wakes up in a cold sweat from nightmares of the procedure. He's there when Bucky pauses and looks into the horizon, flashes of memory awakening in his mind. He's there to reach for his hand when Bucky feels like he's falling all over again, swallowed by snow and ice.

Steve has been there since the beginning and would be there until the end of the line. Bucky knows that, without a doubt, Steve would be there. The tables have turned and Bucky is no longer the protector he once was for Steve; Steve is now the protector.

But Steve also knows when to give Bucky his space. When the nightmares grip him tightly in the night, Steve waits, putting space between them so Bucky doesn't react as though Steve is a threat. Steve lets Bucky explore on his own, this changed world that is so much more than the one they both miss dearly - he knows that Bucky is more than capable of taking care of himself. When Bucky's mind refuses to let him move on from the horrors of his past, Steve lets him vent it out.

Bucky Barnes died a hero several decades ago, but he returned from the dead a monster. He's living every day now to atone, to redeem himself for the crimes he committed as the Winter Soldier. He isn't alone. Steve is right there, ready to walk with him along his path to salvation.

Two months after he came to Steve's apartment, Bucky had reached out to Steve, emotionally unstable as the gaps in his memories started to fill. Two months after he asked who he was, he began to remember and was terrified at the drastic changes he'd gone through. Two months after he turned his back on the Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers was the only one able to comfort the man who was neither the Winter Soldier nor James Buchanan Barnes, and not yet Bucky Barnes.

Two months ago, Steve had held him in arms he didn't remember being so strong. Steve had whispered to him, promises that things would get better, that Bucky would recover from the nightmare Zola and Hydra forced him to live. Steve became Bucky's anchor in this maddening world

One month ago, Bucky had leaned into Steve and pulled him close as the lingering remnant of one more nightmare left his mind. One month ago, he'd let his senses overcome him as he tucked his head against Steve's shoulder, arms wrapped tight around the other man. As his body slowly settled down from the after-effects of the nightmare, Bucky had become increasingly aware of Steve's hand smoothly running up and down his back, of the way Steve's nose was buried into his hair, lips pressed against the crown of his head.

One month ago, Bucky had lifted his head and thrown caution to the wind - as he had done so often in the past, but never with Steve - and pressed his lips against his friend's. He'd felt Steve go still, registered the surprise as their lips remained against each other's, then he'd felt Steve relax again and, almost hesitantly, return the kiss.

Six months ago, the Winter Soldier had had no understanding of the words _friend_ or _love_ meant. He'd had no need for either word; his orders were the only words that mattered. And then Steve Rogers had recognized him, had broken through all of Hydra's re-programming, and sent him spiraling out of control until there was almost nothing left of the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes had once again emerged.

Now, Bucky knows _friend_ is more a word for Sam, who comes over every Saturday and has breakfast with them. He knows that friend could possibly be applied to Natasha, who frequently checks in to make sure everything is alright. It could, maybe, be applied to Tony, who comes over, invited or not, and teases the two "old men" relentlessly.

_Friend_ doesn't quite apply to Steve anymore. Steve, who was there for Bucky every morning with a cup of coffee, who curled up against him in the night and held him close to stave off nightmares. Steve, who smiles at him with that smile of his that assures him everything will be alright.

_Friend_ is no longer enough for Steve Rogers, who loves him unconditionally and assures him that Bucky Barnes is worth every ounce of that love.

Bucky finally knows who he is again and it's because of Steve, who promised him _'til the end of the line_.


End file.
